PRISTINA, KOSOVO The evening call to prayer sails out over Pristina's September11 candlelight vigil, distant and distinct against the muffled noises of the crowd below. None of the Kosovar Albanians gathered here heeds the muezzin. All go on quietly lighting candles and writing notes. An American diplomat remarks that this must be the only September 11 event in a Muslim country not coordinated by the local U.S. embassy. One of many September 11 commemorations across Kosovo, the vigil is by this time well into its fourth hour. It began at 3:00 P.M. local time, roughly the hour when the twin towers were hit. Last year, a spontaneous vigil began around then, with more than 10,000 Kosovars lining Mother Teresa Street. Throughout this anniversary day, all three of Kosovo's TV stations are carrying the Pentagon and ground zero commemorations live. As a sign of respect, the two main political parties have suspended campaigning for the upcoming elections for two days. At nightfall, with the last of six crates of candles burning, the crowd gradually scatters. The local VIPs shuffle over to the sports arena for a U.S.-sponsored concert, Mozart's Requiem, which the U.S. chief of mission says is being performed in embassies all over the world, by over 170 choirs. Kosovo's president, Ibrahim Rugova, goes a little further than other speakers at the embassy event when he says, "September 11, 2001, was an explosion, an assault of evil, and we can say today that September 11, 2002, this whole year is a victory of the good over evil. The USA and the civilized world have prevailed and emerged stronger." Strong words for a president whose country's rebel forces, the Kosovo Liberation Army, have been suspected of being a proving ground for would-be al Qaeda fighters. Then again, perhaps his words aren't so strong, especially if you believe the Kosovars' insistence that they never received, or wanted, any help from the adherents of radical Islam. A Western diplomat backs up that contention, saying, "All the stuff about al Qaeda in Kosovo was nothing more than Serb and Macedonian propaganda. In Bosnia, yes, there was lots of al Qaeda, but in Kosovo, I've never seen any credible evidence." Regardless of any militant Islamic assistance to the Kosovar Albanians in their quest for independence, the Kosovars today are firmly in the U.S. foreign policy camp. Their response to September 11 gives the lie to the myth that Muslims will never be pro-American. Their support for the victors--their liberators--bolsters the argument that "they'll like us when we win." It's an understatement to say that the Kosovars have every reason to embrace American foreign policy. Were it not for NATO's air campaign here in 1999, they would probably still be living (those who remained alive) in very real fear of a tyrant bent on their destruction. Whether their pro-American stance reflects practical considerations or a deeper response seems largely irrelevant. Still, Muhamet Hamiti, a top presidential adviser, is emphatic. "Believe me," he says, "our support for America comes from the heart and is not just a strategic drive. It comes from our sympathy with people suffering from evil in the world, the evil of our times--terrorism. We know what this is like." For certain, Kosovars know destruction. A stone's throw from Hamiti's office--and there are many stones on these pockmarked streets--stands the shell of a Pristina high-rise, seven stories tall and lonesome for its walls. It now serves as a sort of public restroom and a roof for street children. Hamiti's comments, like those of many others, could have been scripted by White House wordsmiths. "For Kosovars, the Americans are great friends. Not just for Kosovars, for every people who want peace and freedom," says Jonuz Salihaj, a candidate for mayor of Pristina in next month's municipal elections. "We will never forget what the United States did for our country," offers Dr. Pllanra Sibrin at the vigil, holding aloft the American and Kosovar flags. "Arabian people will one day understand who is a friend and who is an enemy." I ask a Kosovar TV journalist whether these sentiments are shared throughout his country. He says there is "no doubt." Then he interviews me for his evening broadcast, asking what it's like to know that "America has so many friends in Kosovo." Of course, Kosovo is not the deep South of the Muslim world. Few women wear headscarves; many more expose their midriffs. As for the scattered few who do wear traditional Muslim dress, it's rumored that Islamic groups pay them to do so. Just how Muslim are the Kosovars? "We are Albanians first. We are citizens of Western culture first," says Hamiti. Still, when asked about the Middle East, Hamiti gets visibly upset and threatens to call off the interview. Eventually, he allows that Kosovars are "strongly committed to the principle of self-determination" in Palestine as well as Chechnya, where their Muslim brethren are stateless. But these issues aside, Hamiti is at pains to stress his people's pro-U.S. views. So, too, are his president and members of the opposition party. In fact, Hamiti traces the U.S.-Albanian friendship back to Woodrow Wilson. Despite Kosovo's strong U.S. orientation (or perhaps because of it), some Islamic groups are trying to reconquer lost territory. Wahhabi groups like the Saudi Joint Relief Committee were in the first wave of charities that arrived when the United Nations took control of the region. But in the competitive world of the non-governmental aid groups working in Kosovo, the Islamists haven't found much traction. There's plenty of English instruction and computer training to go around without the religious component. And while there are signs that some Wahhabi groups have packed up shop, everyone accepts that the U.N. is here to stay for some time. Whether or not that explains President Rugova's closing remarks is up for debate. For now, Americans can appreciate the support and sympathy in his words: "Let's oppose evil. Let's strengthen goodness. God bless the victims of September 11. God bless America. God bless Kosovo. God bless our friendship." Hans Nichols, a reporter for Insight magazine, is an Arthur Burns Fellow at Der Tagesspiegel in Berlin.